"You hadn't better bother trying to take us to Flagstaff, then," put in Legree, "for as long as we've got this tin box Brisco is going to keep on trying to get hold of it. If he chases us with that stolen runabout, which you say is a faster car than the Red Flier, you're goin' to run some risks with this machine."
"If we work it right," said Matt, "I guess we can get you people to Flagstaff without being bothered much by Hank and Spangler. It's queer, though, to have it turn out that those two scoundrels are mixed up in these troubles of yours."
"Ah's done had trouble enough," wailed Uncle Tom, "en Ah doan' know how Ah could stand any mo'. Ah's er pretty ole niggah tuh go traipsin' erroun' afteh robbahs, en drappin' intuh rivvers, an' climbin' trees tuh sabe my hide from beahs. All de same, Ah 'lows some ob dat money fo' ketchin' dat 'ar Brisco would come mouty handy. But Mistah Legree, yo' listen hyeh. If Brisco sets sich er pow'ful store by dat 'ar box, mebby he'd buy hit offen de lot ob us, payin' us whut he owes jess tuh git holt ob hit. Why not, sah, entah intuh prognostications wif him wif de view ob settlin' ouah compunctions in er pleasin' manner?"
A shadow of a grin wreathed itself around Legree's lips.
"Well, Uncle Tom," he answered, "it's hard to prognosticate with a chap who's so hard to find as Brisco is."
"Vere vas Hank vile Spangler vas looking for der pox, Matt?" asked Carl.
"That's a conundrum, Carl."
"Und vere vas der runaboudt?"
"Another conundrum."
"Vell, ditn't Spangler ride to der blace vere he come for der din pox in der runaboudt?"